The End of All Things
by UsedtobeHMC
Summary: Spy wakes up to the end of his world.


He knew almost instantly what had happened. Even before his eyes were open, his training (though decades old and long under-utilized) told him that Sniper's pulse was non-existant. That the skin Spy had become so familiar with over the years was cool. He felt the unnatural stillness, so different from sleep, of the lanky body next to him.

Opening his eyes, Spy untangled himself from Sniper's limp arms and turned to confirm with his own eyes what he already knew.

Sniper was dead.

It appeared he'd passed away in the night.

A stroke, perhaps.

Sniper was in exactly the same position he'd fallen asleep in, suggesting nothing so slow as a heart attack. No, this death was quick. Silent and painless. It hadn't even roused the sleeping man before it took him.

He looked relaxed and peaceful, despite the grey tint that had begun to color his skin. Spy took in the sight of his partner for a brief moment, despair clawing at the edges of his mind. The Australian had been healthy, strong and tall. He had never lost any of his hair, though there was a fair amount of grey in it. Though some people might have said his face was too thin and long to be considered good-looking, Sniper had always been very handsome. At least to Spy. His face suited his body; long, defined and strong. Sniper had been the picture of health until he died.

_Very unfair_, thought Spy idly.

Spy sat up and let his feet settle on the hardwood floor. Sounds of the city waking up around them had just begun to filter in through the windows of their shared apartment in Paris. Somewhere deep below the ground, the 3 train rumbled it's way past their street. A few pigeons gathered in the tree outside and bickered. Occasionally, a car would putter past, though there was not usually much traffic on this little street.

Spy went into the bedside table drawer for a cigarette. He hadn't had one in four years, at Sniper's insistence. But he sincerely felt it was appropriate at the moment.

"Bonne nuit, mon âme."

* * *

><p>The funeral was minimally attended. They had led very private lives, even after the war was long ended and covered up by varying governments. Neither of them had been particularly interested in friends over the years. Sniper had often hinted that Spy was the only one who didn't annoy the piss out of him. <em>"Though sometimes..."<em> he had said once, with a mischevious glint.

They had a few aquaintences scattered around Paris; a neighbor, a distant cousin of Spy's who liked to come over uninvited and talk about wine.

However, there was Colette, a teenager who had adopted Sniper as a sort of father figure when he'd foiled her boyfriends attempted assault in an alley one cold, winter night. Sniper had insisted he'd barely done a thing, but Colette thought differently, which was understandable. She touted him as a hero and babbled to Spy every detail she could remember when they met; that all of a sudden, he appeared from the shadows and said in a low voice, "Reckon you should remove your mitts from that young lady." Though Colette didn't speak much English, she remembered that phrase phonetically, which made Spy chuckle.

The boyfriend had made a valiant attempt at a threatening pose, but Sniper was a good foot taller, and there was the small detail of his custom-made, stainless steel, 9-inch hunting knife that the trained assassin never left home without. (Old habits and all that.) The boy had taken off like a shot, and was apparently so rattled that he never darkened her doorstep again. Sniper had invited the shaken girl back to the apartment he shared with Spy, and they'd wrapped her in blankets and pushed tea at her until she stopped shivering. Sniper built a fire in the hearth and Colette stayed until morning, eventually falling asleep. She'd returned every weekend after that with a treat of some sort; a pie one time, saltwater taffy from the States the next time. She'd become a regular fixture on weekends over the past year.

Now, Spy hugged the poor, sobbing girl and muttered comforting phrases to her. The poor thing was too young for loss like this. Spy knew that she would show up.

But he hadn't expected every single member of the old team to show up.

It had been 20 years, and yet here they all were. Heavy and Medic had of course arrived together; both sporting walking canes though Heavy's looked more like a tree trunk. Scout had grown and matured into quite the handsome gentleman, all the pompous bravado and reckless confidence having fallen aside to make room for maturity and a kind heart. With him was a lovely blonde woman and two young boys who could have been little clones of their father, they looked so much like him.

Demo had lost his sight after the war had ended, minor corneal damage leading to an infection that eventually rendered his one, remaining eye useless. But he was still larger than life and full of stories of the old glory days. He was led around by a massive, 175-pound German Shepherd named Nitro, who wagged his tail whenever Demo laughed.

Engineer came alone, but had pictures of his wife and their _six daughters_ from back home. "It's a good thing Irma can lay down the law," he'd joked. "Cuz those crafty gals have me wrapped around their little fingers."

Solider was oddly… normal when he arrived. "I've been trying a new regimen," He'd said. "It's good." And that's all that was said on the matter. He didn't make mention of any family or where he was living; he seemed much more interested in what everyone else was doing. Scout whispered to Spy that Soldier seemed lonely and that maybe he'd start checking in on him from time to time.

No one had known that Pyro was a woman until several years after the war, so when she showed up, it took a few moments for everyone to realize who she was. "Went back to China to help my parents buy a new house, and kind of stayed around there for a while. Saw a few doctors, you get the idea…" She explained. "I realized I really did like my home, you know? Decided I'd done enough traveling for one lifetime. I'm a teacher now,' she smiled. "I teach English and a cooking class for adults. Specialty is Crème Brûlée."

"But of course," Spy chuckled.

The service was short and mostly non-religious. Sniper had never made any mention of believing in God or higher power, and he'd never even been particularly superstitious. Instead of a mass, they gathered at the funeral home and told stories.

Colette told her story to the gathered mercs and they all shook their heads in wonder. "One thing that bloke absolutely would nae tolerate: Goons gettin' rough with their lassies." Demo nodded, giving Nitro's head a good pat. Spy had always admired Sniper's chivalrous nature. The Australian always held doors, gave up his seat on the train and offered to help with heavy bags or luggage. It was simply the way he was raised, he'd explained. It really was no wonder that he'd taken it upon himself to help when no one else within earshot would.

"How 'bout the time the rations went bad and Snipes went out to get rabbits? Never seen him so proud of himself." Scout snorted, slapping his knee. "Came back with like, 14 on a string, couldn't believe it. Best stew I ever had."

* * *

><p>Burying him was so final. It was Heavy's massive hand on his shoulder that prevented Spy from falling apart.<p>

* * *

><p>Engineer stayed behind a few extra days after everyone else had dispersed back to their respective corners of the world. He and Spy did a bit of sight-seeing together, getting coffee at small cafés and enjoying the silence when it was necessary.<p>

The note Engineer found slipped under his hotel room's door on the last day broke his heart, but he couldn't say he was surprised.

_Simply uninterested in a world without him. No funeral, if you please._  
><em>Thank you, my friend.<em>  
><em>-S<em>

Engineer crumpled the note out of frustration rather than anger. "Son of a bitch…" But it wasn't in him to hold a grudge. When he mustered the courage to go to Spy's apartment and let himself in, he had steeled himself for a gruesome scene, but was shocked instead to find Spy slumped on a chaise lounge as though sleeping. He looked comfortable; lacking any sort of tension in his face or limbs. He wore dress pants and a white, button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His shoes had been recently shined.

The small, empty vial on the floor smelt of a fast-acting poison that Engineer recognized from his years as a mercenary. Quick, silent, painless.

The End


End file.
